


A Quick and Dirty Guide to Gallifreyan Sexuality

by nostalgia



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Aliens, Gender or Sex Swap, Masturbation, Multi, Regeneration, Sharing a Bed, Tentacles, five things, girl!doctor, other is alien/spaceship love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 04:01:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4506966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgia/pseuds/nostalgia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five things you probably didn't need to know about the Doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Quick and Dirty Guide to Gallifreyan Sexuality

::Sex::

 

The Doctor slid into the bath after a long day of adventure, grime and – notably – death.

The first bath after regeneration was always an interesting one, all those new nooks and crannies to explore. And these ones were especially new and intriguing. She slid a hand between her legs and... no, she should work up to that. Inventory first, wank later.

The arms and legs felt fine, and she seemed to have the usual number of fingers and toes. Two eyes, both in working order; belly button present and correct; respiratory bypass as expected. Hearts? Beating nicely. 

Breasts? Quite unusual to see those from this angle, but they seemed to be okay. She measured with her hands, mentally comparing herself to River before remembering that these were different hands from the ones that had been so familiar with her wife. 

_To-Do List, item #1: Get self measured for a decent bra, something simple and easy to work with._

She had never been very good at regeneration, having to make do with whatever she got, and it was always a relief to have all the necessary parts in full working order. 

She had better check the primary sexual organs. Just in case. She reached down and had a bit a feel. Being a woman may have been new to her but if she could find someone else's clitoris then she could damn well find her own. Left a bit? Oh, that was nice. Yes, that was _very_ nice.

She explored the new equipment carefully, letting her thoughts wander as she worked. This was a whole new way of masturbating, and she wanted to get good at it. She wondered if Missy would give her some tips if she asked nicely. 

She thought about Missy for a while, becoming increasingly excited by the possibilities until finally something hit her and she cried out involuntarily. That would be the female orgasm, then. 

“Wow,” she said aloud, slightly dazed. 

She really should try that with a partner ASAP, it would probably be even better. She was tempted to give it another go right away, to see if she could manage one of those multiple orgasms she had read so much about in magazines, but she could save that for another day. Might as well string out the novelty value a bit longer. Besides, Clara might wonder why her bath was taking so long.

Poor Clara. She wasn't taking it very well. Two regenerations within such a short time-frame would throw anyone, probably, but she had seemed more upset than she ought to have been given that the Doctor was still alive and well and willing to do anything for her. 

She turned the problem over in her head a few times. People often said that women had some sort of magical instinct about other people's emotions, which the Doctor had long suspected was a load of old balls. Either way she didn't have any stunning new insights about Clara's mental state. 

Maybe her companion just wasn't into girls. That would be a shame, she had always enjoyed flirting with Clara and having unresolved sexual tension with her. Oh well, these things happened, no point getting upset about it.

The bathwater was getting a bit cold, so she put these thoughts aside until later and washed her hair instead.

 

::Sexuality::

 

“There were only two rooms left,” said Rose, “and one of them's got a double-bed.” She looked at her companions, gaze shifting from one to the other and back again. She smiled flirtatiously. “So who am I sharing with?”

She was quite keen on sharing with the Doctor, but Mickey was probably more likely to put out, so the decision was a bit difficult. Best to let them argue it out between them, really. It was like flipping a coin, but with more testosterone. 

“You're not sharing with him,” said Mickey, hotly. 

“I'll share with Mickey,” said the Doctor, taking the key and ruining everything with his sense of propriety.

Rose bit her lip to stop herself complaining and nodded to accept this annoying course of events. “I'll see you in the morning, then,” she said.

 

Mickey couldn't get settled. He was much too aware that he was in bed with a man and an alien one at that. Not that there was anything wrong with it, obviously, but he just didn't swing that way. Besides, a few things had been troubling him recently. One thing in particular kept him awake at nights, and this seemed like a good opportunity to enquire about it.

“Are you sleeping with my girlfriend?” he asked.

“No,” said the Doctor, “I'm sleeping with you.” He said this in a somewhat confused tone of voice.

“That's not what I meant,” said Mickey. _Be patient with him_ , he told himself, _he's from space._ “Are you shagging her?”

“Would I do that?” asked the Doctor, apparently giving the matter some thought. “I don't think I would.”

“Good,” said Mickey, eager to accept this answer as the truth. He stared up at the ceiling, hoping that was the end of it.

“It would depend on the circumstances,” said the Doctor.

He didn't like the sound of that. “What?”

“If someone threatened to kill us unless we had sex with each other then, yes, I most likely would.”

“Is that likely to happen?”

“Probably not,” said the Doctor. 

Mickey decided to leave the topic before it got any more troubling. He got a certain spiteful joy from teasing Rose about the Doctor's sex life, but it remained something of a mystery beyond the fact that women went nuts over him. And Captain Jack, he'd been nuts as well. And Rose had mentioned a tree once...

So maybe he played for both teams. Maybe he played for _all_ the teams, though Mickey had no idea how many teams they had in space. He glanced sideways at the alien, who appeared to be deep in thought. 

“Have you ever done it with a bloke?” Mickey asked before he could stop himself.

The Doctor looked at him. “Will it make you uncomfortable if I say yes?”

“Why would it?” he asked, a bit offended. He knew plenty of gay people. Some of his best friends were... well, okay, maybe not his _best_ friends, but acquaintances at least.

“Some people are odd about it,” said the Doctor. “And, yes, I have. Why do you ask?”

“I just wondered, that's all. About aliens.”

“Mickey, I'm not the ambassador for alien kind. It varies, species to species and individual to individual.” 

“Okay.” It was a bit of a non-answer, but it made sense.

“Do you want me to draw a diagram for you, or can I go to sleep?”

“Sorry,” said Mickey. “Night, Doctor.” He closed his eyes, told himself off a bit for asking stupid questions, and counted sheep until he fell asleep.

 

::Species::

 

As Amy waited for the bartender to return with their drinks she heard the Doctor say, “I was just admiring your tentacles.” 

She looked round and saw that he had turned towards the alien next to him at the bar, a green woman with clusters of tentacles growing where a human would have had limbs.

“I expect you hear this all the time,” he was saying, “but you really are very beautiful.”

The woman smiled at him rather shyly. “Actually, most people of other species tend to find them a bit... off-putting.”

“Off-putting? But they're lovely!”

Lovely was not the word Amy would have used, but this thought was interrupted by the arrival of their drinks. “Doctor,” she said, nudging him.

“Just a moment, Pond,” he said, without turning his attention from the tentacle-lady. “I'll meet you back at our table.”

Amy picked up the drinks and managed to get back to the table without spilling very much from the glasses. She sat down next to Rory and looked around for the Doctor. He was still at the bar, talking to his new friend. 

Or possibly something other than a friend, given that he was now standing very close to her with a tentacle held between his hands. 

“No,” she muttered, “no way. You can't be getting it on with a tentacle-monster, you're a nine hundred year old alien, not a Japanese schoolgirl.”

“You probably shouldn't call her a monster,” said Rory, following his fiancée’s gaze. “We're supposed to be cosmopolitan travellers, remember?”

“Okay, tentacle- _person_ , but it's still a bit freaky.”

Rory shrugged. “I've seen worse. She's quite pretty if you ignore the tentacles.”

“He's not ignoring them, he's fondling them,” said Amy. 

And he was, indeed, smiling at the woman while slowly caressing her tentacles. She was smiling back and Amy was sure they hadn't been standing so close to each other a moment ago. She watched as a couple of the appendages started stroking the Doctor's hair.

“He's in there,” said Rory, as they watched the display.

Did they even have compatible parts? Was there something hidden among the tentacles that made up her lower body? Was that how it worked? Would he have put out for her if _she_ had tentacles? “Where would she even put them all?” she asked out loud.

“He's an alien,” said Rory, “he likes alien things.”

The Doctor left the bar and crossed the room to their table. “Did you bring the spare TARDIS key?” he asked Amy. “I said I'd walk Callisto home and I don't want to make you wait for me coming back. It's quite far,” he added, “I might not make it back before morning.” 

“I've got the key,” said Amy, “don't worry about us.” 

“Good.” He straightened his bow-tie. “I'll see you when I see you.”

They watched him make his way back to the bar. “Did he just ditch us so he could go off and have sex?” she asked.

“I think so,” said Rory. 

Amy had spent a fair bit of time thinking about the Doctor and sex, but it had never involved tentacles before. “Maybe he really is just walking her home,” she suggested.

“I think it'll be good for him,” said Rory. “It might cheer him up a bit.”

“Yes, but -”

“Amy, he's the last of his kind, _everyone_ is an alien to him. So you and I don't go for tentacles. He does. Let him have a bit of fun.”

He had a point, and he was almost certainly right. The Doctor wasn't human and not so long ago she'd have shagged him in a heartbeat, and maybe that wasn't as straightforward as she had imagined. She felt a twinge of shame at her own reaction, and did her best to shrug off her distaste. When she looked back at the bar the Doctor and Callisto had already vanished. 

“Okay,” she said, “but I draw the line at evil fish-vampires.”

 

::Fantasy::

 

Josephine Grant's bodice-rippers weren't exactly great literature, but they were – as one reviewer had put it – hot as hell and deliciously kinky. 

Clara turned the page to a particularly graphic description of the female orgasm which made her wonder if she had any hidden talents of her own in that regard. She pulled her feet up onto the armchair and read on, becoming so engrossed in the narrative that she didn't notice the Doctor enter the library. 

“What are you reading?”

She looked up, closing the book without marking the page. “Nothing,” she said, wondering when the room had grown so warm. 

“It doesn't look like nothing,” said the Doctor, “it looks like a book.”

Clara decided to brazen it out. “It's a romance novel, if you must know. Not your sort of thing at all.”

“How do you know it's not my sort of thing?” he asked, as if offended.

“Because I've met you?” She held up the book and showed him the illustration on the cover. “See? It's all kissing and holding hands, all that stuff you don't like.”

“That book's about rather more than kissing and holding hands,” said the Doctor, raising his eyebrows.

“You've read it?” Clara was surprised. 

“I wrote it.” 

Clara wasn't falling for that one, no matter how innocent he looked. “Yeah, and what's the sequel called? 'Fifty Shades of Grey Hair'?”

“You're still not over the hair, are you?” he asked. “I wrote that book. I used Jo Grant's name because, well, she got married and she wasn't using it any more. That seemed such a waste of a great name.” 

“Doctor, stop trolling me, it won't work.”

“I'm serious,” he insisted, “I wrote that book. I've written about a dozen of them over the years. That one's not the best, but the structure is sound and the description of eighteenth-century England is about as accurate as it's possible to be.”

Clara wasn't convinced. “So you've read it, that doesn't prove you wrote it.” She wondered where he was going with all this, what the punchline would be. “Anyway,” she said, “this was obviously written by a woman. A human woman.”

The Doctor smiled happily. “You really think so? I tried my best,” he added modestly, “but I worried that I was over-thinking it.”

He lied all the time, of course, though admittedly Clara wasn't sure what he was hoping to gain on this occasion. Maybe it was sheer force of habit?

“If you have any constructive criticisms, I'd be happy to take them on board. What did you think of the main character's emotional journey? And that bit where she confronts her ex-boyfriend?”

Clara's certainty wavered. “It was a bit... rushed?” she ventured. “And some of the motivations were too thin.”

The Doctor's eyebrows seemed to merge together into one very annoyed super-brow. “What?”

If being an English teacher had given Clara Oswald one skill, it was the ability to recognise a writer's injured ego. Oh. Okay. Wow.

“Nobody reads these for the plots,” she said, rather hastily.

Her mind raced. If the Doctor had thought up all these improbable sexual acts then he must have quite the imagination. He'd lived for a very long time, though, so maybe he was writing from experience? In which case... well, she wasn't really sure how to cope with this information. 

“The plots are important,” he insisted. “All that sex stuff is just to fill up the pages between events. It's padding.”

“No,” said Clara, “it's the main attraction.”

“So why are you reading it?” he asked, very innocently for someone with such an apparently filthy mind.

“I...” She tried to think quickly. “I like the use of metaphors to describe the emotional states of the characters,” she lied. 

This seemed to make him happy, so she quit while she was ahead and left the library with a mumbled excuse about being sleepy. 

 

::Love::

 

“Time to recalibrate your temporal gyroscope,” said the Doctor, tenderly, running a hand along the edge of the console as he spoke. “And we should probably check the hyperspatial stabilisers.”

The TARDIS didn't say anything, of course, but a few of her visible parts started to rotate a bit faster at his words. Taking this as encouragement, the Doctor knelt down and opened a panel under the console. 

He had regenerated almost a week ago, and had let things get a bit overdue on the maintenance side of things because he couldn't shake the ridiculous notion that his ship might have gone off him. He put that down to Clara's reaction to the change, though she and the TARDIS couldn't be more different even if one of them hadn't been a biomechanical transdimensional spaceship wrapped inside a tall blue box.

“Humans,” he muttered, taking the sonic screwdriver from his pocket and touching it against the stabiliser circuits. The TARDIS hummed her sympathy as he checked the readings. “No wonder you've been favouring your left side,” he said to her, “I'd better get these back in alignment.” 

With Clara all but forgotten, he placed the screwdriver on the floor and began making the adjustments by hand. It would take longer this way, but the TARDIS usually appreciated the intimacy of touch.

The interior temperature had risen by just under a degree by the time he had finished, and he had loosened his shirt collar and rolled up his sleeves in response. He should have done this earlier, it might have helped him settle in to his new body.

Distracted by the thought he touched the wrong wire and a little shower of sparks burned his skin. He pulled his hand away, swearing in their own language. “Sorry,” he said, “I didn't mean to do that.” He hoped he hadn't hurt her too badly. 

The self-repair systems kicked in with a soft golden glow. Trusting her instincts he let the light touch his damaged skin, and while she couldn't heal him on her own she was quite capable of easing the pain somewhat. He thanked her without words and went back to work. 

He knew he could never understand how she perceived things. He just didn't have enough senses and that was fine, really, it wasn't important and it didn't come between them. He also knew that she existed in dimensions he could scarcely begin to imagine, so that his idea of her wasn't as accurate as he'd have liked. But they managed, somehow. He would whisper words she couldn't form and she replied with sensation and occasional movement. 

He finished his work, slid out from under the console, and got to his feet. “Right then, old girl, shall we test those stabilisers?” A quick jump in and out of the vortex should be enough to reveal any mistakes. A quick tug of the dematerialisation lever and she spun gracefully away from real space-time. 

She was a bit of a mystery to him in some ways, and probably always would be, but that was part of what made her so endlessly fascinating. He understood her enough to love her, and surely that was all that mattered? She wasn't a puzzle he could solve, but somehow the solution didn't seem all that important. She wasn't quite like the rest of her kind, he knew that much, but as long as she was happy he didn't really care.

She was a TARDIS, after all, and who was he to judge?


End file.
